SNAPE'S PROPOSAL LETTER FOR THE DARK ARTS
by Sarah Noble
Summary: He sends in an application every year...but what does it SAY?
1. He sends it in

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape~ Potions Master, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
LETTER OF APPLICATION FOR NEW TEACHING POSITION  
  
POSITION REQUESTED: Defence Against the Dark Arts  
  
To Whom it May Concern:  
  
This letter is in compliance with the school guidelines stating that all applicants for new teaching positions must submit a letter of proposal for acceptance. Disregarding the fact that this position is less NEW than it is unfairly occupied at the time, and I am less an APPLICANT than I am sick and tired of doing this every year. . .let's just get on with the spiel.  
  
I feel that, given my years of teaching at this school, my experience with the subject matter involved in the said requested teaching position and my overall smashing good looks, make me an ideal candidate for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching position. I could probably prove it by cursing the lot of you to Kingdom Come and then no one would oppose me for the position, but somehow I know that isn't the best way to go about applying for a job.  
  
But if this proposal is rejected, it might become my second option.  
  
As I look back upon my tenure with the school, I am sharply reminded of how I have put forth a great amount of effort into educating the young minds of our students. I am even more sharply reminded of how my efforts to educate their young minds with sharp instruments has been unjustly frowned upon during the last few years. I feel that, given my history and record with the school, I would be able to bring experience, knowledge and one hell of a wardrobe to the vacated Dark Arts position. I need not remind you of some of the more recent winners we've had squatting in the DA job like giant loathesome toadstools, running the whole bloody course six feet into the ground and generally nancing about under my nose as if they were actually qualified to teach a class, much less find their classroom unaided, recognize a class when they see one, or attempt to not put a flashcard labelled "class" in their mouths and eat it.  
  
I realize that, for reasons unknown, my proposal each year for this position has been rejected. I hate those reasons. I don't have to know them to hate them. I am considering filing a suit against this school for discrimination. I am also considering filing sexual harassment suits againt the Headmaster, Mr. Filch, one of the knights of armor in the upper corridor, a ball of string and Switzerland. This is, after all, a wizard school and is therefore completely unsupervised by any sort of nationally recognized Board of Ed or even an official magistrate, so hopefully the suits will go through and I'll make out like a bandit.  
  
With all of that in mind, I would also like to clear up some misconceptions that may have hitherto been the source of my rejection every year for this position.  
  
1. I do not, in fact, endorse shopping at Hot Topic, and I forbid students to even talk about that ridiculous muggle shop. Clothing should be functional, not a luxury that is justified in throwing away outrageous amounts of money that last time I was in town and spent my entire paycheck.  
  
2. Yes, for your information, I DO attend a funeral every day in this outfit. I don't just wear black for the hell of it.  
  
3. The matrix may be the only reality, but it's a reality that ripped its wardrobe from ME.  
  
4. For the last time, I do not know who has been writing "$N4P3 RUL3$ H4X0R$ 4-3V3R!!!" in the men's bathroom in the third floor corridor in my handwriting.  
  
With that out of the way, I would like to seriously suggest that you reconsider hiring me as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for the coming fall term, and preferably for every term after that until I bloody well decide I've had enough and knock you all off with vials of poison in your dinners one night. Thank you. I remain,  
  
Yours truly, Severus Snape  
  
P.S. $N4P3 RUL3$. 


	2. They send it back

From the Desk of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
Re: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS TEACHING POSITION  
  
Dear Professor Snape,  
  
Thank you for your application regarding the Defence Against the Dark Arts position for the upcoming fall term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was extremely pleased to receive your application and add it to the four-foot high pile of your previous applications, before setting fire to them and laughing like a maniac far into the night, as is in compliance with school regulations.  
  
Unfortunately, we cannot accept your application at this time, due to the position being filled this summer by a Mr. Herman J. Cleveland, who is currently employed part time at Big Danny's House of Luxury Tuxedos and Auto Repair. Mr. Cleveland assures me that he is well-versed in the knowledge of the Dark Arts, as well as in the art of hot-wiring cars and making a particularly potent cocktail from an orange, half a glass of tomato juice, a wool sock and twenty ounces of engine coolant. Mr. Cleveland will also continue his Tuxedo/Auto Repair floor job during the school year, so that in his absence from school, his classes will be taught by an especially intelligent pair of pants I found jammed between the wall and the washing machine last week.  
  
We would like to assure you that your continued applications have not gone unnoticed within the school's records, and that, should Professor Cleveland choose to retire or turn himself in at any time in the future, we will certainly review your former applications for one last laugh, before handing them over to my personal psychiatrist, who frankly believes that your requests for this position are nothing more than a desperate cry for love and acceptance from your peers. He also believes your current hairstyle is a poorly veiled sign that you are estranged from your family, but I have a hard time swallowing that last one, as most of the faculty is firmly under the belief that you have no family and were in fact cloned from Viola Swamp.  
  
I would like to personally thank you for taking the time to submit yet another application, and compliment you on your continued dedication to quality by writing your resume completely in human blood. I assure you that as soon as I find out whose blood it was, I will thoroughly soak your resume in water and wring it vigorously into a jar, in case your victim(s) require their blood to be returned.  
  
As for your future lawsuits against the school, I will of course be validating the basis for your claims, and would like to warn you in advance that the ball of string has a defence team that could kick your ass and call you Susan in five seconds flat, so don't go there. Switzerland, on the other hand, should be a piece of cake.  
  
Once again, thank you for taking an interest both in the Dark Arts position and in making yourself look like a hopeless loser. I remain,  
  
Yours truly,  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
  
P.S. I want my Radiohead CDs back, so just stick them on my desk when you're done. 


	3. He tries again

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
To Whom It May Concern:  
  
Upon receiving yet another fact-filled rejection letter from you, I promptly filed it with the other seven hundred letters in my wastebasket under "Moron." I would like to thank you for taking the time to send a reply so quickly. I'm amazed at the promptness and efficiency of your submissions staff, which was helpful enough to send a rejection letter before the ink on my proposal had quite finished drying. I'm certain you psychic bastards will find my proposal most informative once you DO receive it, and will feel completely justified in rejecting me beforehand.  
  
However, I would like to resubmit my proposal under different terms, regarding the questionable recent action of hiring a one "Professor Cleveland" to my future job position. Since receiving your highly amusing and sometimes illegible rejection, I took it upon myself to visit Professor Cleveland and welcome him to the staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Finding him not at his place of work, I apparated over to his home, where I stood ominously over his bedside in the darkest shadows until, sensing my foreboding presence, he awoke.  
  
The professor struck me as a most engaging individual, with more than a slight phobia of vampires. After persuading him that I was not, in fact, on a mission to suck his blood (a fact that unfortunately, was not supported by my appearance or wardrobe or utterly non-menacing habit of baring my teeth at him every five minutes), I had a very entertaining visit with Professor Cleveland and can only wish him the best of luck in the future.  
  
I must admit it was a great pleasure in meeting Professor Cleveland first- hand before the coming school year, and you may rest assured that I feel nothing but the deepest concern to recently hear that, after my short visit to his house, Professor Cleveland awoke later in the night and while exiting his bed, tripped and fell onto no less than forty-seven different sharp objects and a bottle of rat poison. I have great faith, however, in Professor Cleveland's constitution and do not doubt that he will recover in a matter of months.  
  
In the meantime, I am resubmitting my proposal for the position per the current professor's absence, and in light of the fact that I have since located Professor Cleveland's replacement teacher, stonewashed it and cut it up into a very comfortable pair of shorts. In case you wondered, I also have gained possession of some very compromising photos concerning the ball of string, and am placing them under the security of my lawyers for future use.  
  
I trust that you will look more favorably upon my proposal this time around, as I would hate to see any future substitute Dark Arts teachers turned into equally comfortable pairs of shorts. If you need to contact me, I can be reached on the school's front lawn, doing a victory dance. I remain,  
  
Yours truly,  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. You'll get your bloody CDs back when I'm done ripping them onto my iMac and not a minute before, bitch. 


	4. They give him flak

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
To Whom It May Concern:  
  
Upon receiving yet another fact-filled rejection letter from you, I promptly filed it with the other seven hundred letters in my wastebasket under "Moron." I would like to thank you for taking the time to send a reply so quickly. I'm amazed at the promptness and efficiency of your submissions staff, which was helpful enough to send a rejection letter before the ink on my proposal had quite finished drying. I'm certain you psychic bastards will find my proposal most informative once you DO receive it, and will feel completely justified in rejecting me beforehand.  
  
However, I would like to resubmit my proposal under different terms, regarding the questionable recent action of hiring a one "Professor Cleveland" to my future job position. Since receiving your highly amusing and sometimes illegible rejection, I took it upon myself to visit Professor Cleveland and welcome him to the staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Finding him not at his place of work, I apparated over to his home, where I stood ominously over his bedside in the darkest shadows until, sensing my foreboding presence, he awoke.  
  
The professor struck me as a most engaging individual, with more than a slight phobia of vampires. After persuading him that I was not, in fact, on a mission to suck his blood (a fact that unfortunately, was not supported by my appearance or wardrobe or utterly non-menacing habit of baring my teeth at him every five minutes), I had a very entertaining visit with Professor Cleveland and can only wish him the best of luck in the future.  
  
I must admit it was a great pleasure in meeting Professor Cleveland first- hand before the coming school year, and you may rest assured that I feel nothing but the deepest concern to recently hear that, after my short visit to his house, Professor Cleveland awoke later in the night and while exiting his bed, tripped and fell onto no less than forty-seven different sharp objects and a bottle of rat poison. I have great faith, however, in Professor Cleveland's constitution and do not doubt that he will recover in a matter of months.  
  
In the meantime, I am resubmitting my proposal for the position per the current professor's absence, and in light of the fact that I have since located Professor Cleveland's replacement teacher, stonewashed it and cut it up into a very comfortable pair of shorts. In case you wondered, I also have gained possession of some very compromising photos concerning the ball of string, and am placing them under the security of my lawyers for future use.  
  
I trust that you will look more favorably upon my proposal this time around, as I would hate to see any future substitute Dark Arts teachers turned into equally comfortable pairs of shorts. If you need to contact me, I can be reached on the school's front lawn, doing a victory dance. I remain,  
  
Yours truly,  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. You'll get your bloody CDs back when I'm done ripping them onto my iMac and not a minute before, bitch. 


	5. He makes the effort

From the desk of Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
Dear Professor Snape,  
  
Upon receiving your second proposal, I was most saddened to hear that both Professor Cleveland and the pair of pants are no longer fit for active teaching at the school. I feel especially sorry for the pants. I trust that you understand what an awkward position this puts me in.  
  
In light of the fact that the Dark Arts position is once again vacated, I have no choice but to spend the remaining three months until school locating a new teacher for the position. As you may know, I have been interviewing every article of laundry in the washroom, but have met with little success, owing to someone setting fire to the washroom and writing "$N4P3 RUL3$" in chocolate syrup across the floor.  
  
As per school ordinance, I am required to conduct interviews of current staff and clientele of the school before pursuing an outside applicant. To that end, I have since begun interviewing some of the drapes in the Great Hall, as well as any rug or floor covering over a minimum 15 square footage, that can present three or more letters of recommendation from reputable sources.  
  
I am sure you understand that this is merely school procedure, and that as soon as I am satisfied that no suitable applicant can be found among the fabric items of the school, I shall of course turn to any applications and proposals that have been submitted by the faculty itself within the last few months. Most regrettably, your most recent proposal was filed in my furnace under "FIRE," and since then has become misplaced. If you would be so kind as to go through the entire infuriating process of copying your resume and recommendations in triplicate by hand onto water-proof vellum (as is standard protocol for the school), I will be more than happy to use it as a drinks coaster for only the highest-ranking officials who visit my office.  
  
I also have word that the ball of string is filing a class suit against you for unlawful surveillance and am most anxious to hear the outcome of that case. If you would kindly keep me informed, I would certainly appreciate it. I remain,  
  
Truly Yours,  
  
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore  
  
P.S. If you should receive an email later with the attachment, "ffrqTROJANHORSE.exe", that's a new program I want installed on all faculty computers immediately, starting with your candy-ass iMac.  
  
************  
  
Oooh, he done MESSED wit Sevi's iMac! It be freakin war now, bitch. ( -(Das Author) 


	6. To no avail

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
To Whom It May Concern:  
  
I'd like to once again commend you on your tireless efforts to procure the most adequate teacher for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. Unfortunately, the position doesn't seem to be mine yet, and I can only conclude that your efforts have been in vain and you don't know your ass from your hat.  
  
Having since recopied my proposal for your tentative approval, I have taken the liberty of nailing it page by page to the front door of your office and hope that you will be so good as to look it through whenever you have a moment. I want nothing more than to see that this position goes to the person most suited for teaching the subjects contained therein, provided that person is me. To that end, I have provided a few letters of recommendation on my behalf, in the form of several pairs of highly trained attack pants, which I have hidden throughout your bedchambers. I have no doubt that they will persuade you that I am the most capable applicant for the job. Should this prove not to be not the case, I will regardless sell you the antidote to their zipper-venom at a discounted rate.  
  
Per the ordinance of the school, I have also filed all school rugs and curtains into my toilet, under "Whoops." They have since that filing become misplaced. And I don't care.  
  
As you requested, I have also received up-to-date information on the formerly pending lawsuits. The ball of string and I have settled out of court. I suggest you seriously reconsider my proposal for the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, as I am now also in possession of most of Switzerland, due to a large and rather shameless lawsuit-coup of this chocolate and wooden clock-infested nation. The ball of string and I have now also joined forces, and we will see you in Hell.  
  
Yours truly,  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. That candy-ass iMac got me through college, which is more than I can say for your eMachine. I could CRAP a better computer than that. 


	7. He'll never cut it

From the desk of Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
Dear Professor Snape,  
  
I am always happy to review any new proposals that might be submitted to me. I have received/pried your proposal loose from the door and I assure you that I will be thoroughly reviewing it once I can locate it. I had formerly filed it in a hatbox under "Manchair", which was locked in a filing cabinet located in a disused girls' cloakroom in the basement under the dungeon with a sign on the door stating "Caution: Loud Noises and Paint." It has since then become misplaced.  
  
You will be happy to know, however, that prior to your submission of your latest proposal, I had found a suitable candidate for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. I have interviewed him thoroughly and perceived that, while not possessing all of the qualities that I would have hoped for in the new DA teacher, he does emit a loud variety of slamming noises every so often. After thorough examination, I have come to the conclusion that the new professor is in fact my office door. However, as he came to the interview with an impressive amount of recommendations and a very satisfactory proposal nailed to him, I am delighted to award him the position.  
  
Therefore, Professor Door will be taking over the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this coming fall term, and I am sure you and the rest of the faculty will have no trouble in making him feel at home on the staff. Professor Door has requested some additional source material with which to prepare his class, and as I understand you are very keen on the subject of the Dark Arts, I told him that you would be more than willing to be his full-time assistant with no compensation whatsoever. I have also granted him permission to call you "Lab Monkey" at his discretion, as well as the use of your bedchambers and girlfriend Sarah, on weekends and holidays.  
  
I would also like to congratulate you on your success in settling out of court with the ball of string, and assure you that, as I am currently dating the ball of string's sister, there will be no friction between myself and your stringy cohort now or at any future date, loser. If you have any further questions or comments regarding the Dark Arts position, please feel free to stand on the lawn outside my office and shout them, and I will happily keep my window closed and ignore you.  
  
Truly Yours,  
  
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore  
  
P.S. At least when MY computer breaks, you can fix it instead of going out and buying another "Fruit of the Month" tangerine crap-machine. By the way, Professor Door told me to tell you to make sure your girlfriend wears something sheer this Saturday night, and that you should be out of your rooms by ten o'clock.  
  
************************  
  
Awww MAN, Snape's woman has to date a DOOR? It is clear something drastic and flammable must be done to the new Professor. Defend your bitch, Snape! 


	8. He'll always fail

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
To Whom It May Concern:  
  
Having received your last letter and filed in my stomach under "Lunch," I immediately went around to Professor Door's chambers to assist him in any way I could with the new course material for the coming school year. Professor Door is, in all honesty, a most charming individual, and fully possessed of the knowledge required for the position to which he was appointed. As such, it is with a very heavy heart that I must inform you of recent sad events.  
  
It seems that Professor Door was suffering from Bi-Doorlar disorder, a much unfortunate disease that infests the very fibres and crossgrains of one's mental being, causing them to swing between moods of high euphoria and darkest depression. On several occasions during the last week, I met the professor at various places on the school grounds, repeatedly slamming himself open and closed and rebuking himself out loud rather harshly. My efforts to calm him were of no use, as he would immediately depart for his quarters and not be seen for hours at a time. Although most people know only the jovial, carefree individual that Professor Door portrayed himself as, few knew of his mental deficiencies, which he strove so desperately to hide.  
  
In light of this fact, it came as no surprise to me when, knocking at his door earlier today so that I might pick up the rather demeaning little fez hat he had intended me to wear while assisting him, I was confronted by a most shocking sight. Professor Door had apparently succumbed to one of his blacker depressions during the night, and had lynched himself over his bed from a light fixture.  
  
I sincerely regret to be the bearer of bad tidings during this time of bereavement, and I will do my best to fill the recently vacated position with the same spirit and determination that I am sure Professor Door would have given, had he lived to see the dawn. Funeral services will be held by the wood-chipper out back of the green house at ten a.m. tomorrow, and I will of course deliver to you the note and estate papers he left, as well as the ball of string he used to hang himself.  
  
My deepest condolences go out to you during this time.  
  
Yours truly,  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. $N4P3 RUL3$. 


	9. He needs a break

From the desk of Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
Dear Professor Snape,  
  
It is with great difficulty that I write this response to your latest proposal. You have, of course, heard the news by now that Professor Door is no longer with us. The entire school feels a marked sense of emptiness (and a slight draft in my office) since this upstanding member of our faculty was chipped to rest last week. I am sure the Professor Door's short but brilliant legacy will be remembered by all, as both a respected teacher and a large sheet of wood that can slammed for emphasis by angry persons exiting a room. For now, we have only the small tokens he left us to comfort in his wake. . . a deed to some real estate in Majorca, a suicide note written in other people's blood and a suspiciously non- communicative ball of string.  
  
But onto a fresh start and a new day ahead! It is what Professor Door would have wanted. . .to move past the trauma of our loss, and onto the business of not hiring you. We can only respect his wishes and put our best foot forward, even in times of grief.  
  
I have, since the tragic loss of our latest Dark Arts teacher, gone over your proposal, which has most helpfully been written in sharpie marker all over my office wall and in my private bathroom. I sense that I may not be able to find a better substitute for the job than you, and feel that, after many years of dedicated service to the school, you deserve to be awarded the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.  
  
There is, however, one unfortunate stipulation.  
  
Due to an incredibly old and possibly made-up school regulation, all candidates for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position must go on a terrifying and potentially suicidal mission of utter peril, deep within the caverns beneath the school, to seek out and bring back the Purple Zoowalash. The Purple Zoowalash was sealed into a secret cavern underneath the school's foundations many thousands of years ago. Its powers are vast and infinite, but it is most notably known within antiquidated records for its amazing ability of turning ordinary metal into chocolate syrup, and everything else into useless balls of string.  
  
This is a task that has been set before every Dark Arts candidate, starting with you and ending right after you fail your ass off and crawl back to your worthless Potions job. The task may indeed take you weeks, even months, to complete, and I expect a full report by letter of every aspect of your journey. Safe journey to you and be sure to write regularly! The staff has already started a betting pool on how you're going to die, and as soon as we can figure out if strangling and suffocating go in the same category, we'll cut you in on the bet.  
  
Truly Yours,  
  
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore  
  
P.S. DUM8L3D0R3 R0X0R$.  
  
********************  
  
Sounds like Snape's off on a magical journey under the school, unless he decides to just kill everyone and elect himself King of Hogwarts.  
  
In case you weren't aware, you can direct your love and/or hatred of Snape to www.livejournal.com/~SeviSays, home of the new Sevi Says, Snape's personal advice column. He's ready to answer all of your burning questions about life.or at least mock them heavily.in a site that's compltely unrelated to this story and not an all an infraction of the rules. (  
  
-Das Author 


	10. Give him some slack!

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
To Whom It May Concern:  
  
After unsuccessfully trying to find the school records room to see whether your claims of this new "Dark Arts teacher applicant task" were, in fact, up date (and not completely pulled out of the fattest part of your ass, as I am inclined to suspect), I was forced to ask some of the other professors whether they were aware of this rule or not.  
  
Professor Flitwick seemed the most interested in relating information about the Zoowalash to me. He informed me that he had once applied for the Dark Arts job himself, and that he had journeyed underground, far beneath the foundations of the school, to find the Zoolawash and return it to the school's possession. He had been unsuccessful, however, as his progress through the caverns was impeded by a mysterious clan of feral laundry that had been lost in the washroom and eventually made its way underground, via the lint trap ventilators. Professor Flitwick also warned me that the way to the Zoowalash was treacherous, that I should be careful to use the Zoowalash but not be used by It, and that anything I say can and may be used against me in a court of fish. Then he flapped his arms and flew away. That man does more acid than anyone I know.  
  
So it seems I have no choice but to go along with your insane crap and journey down under the school for the purple Zoowalash. I have no doubt that I shall be successful, and that I will easily earn the Defence Against the Dark Arts position upon my return, as well as some long-awaited mad props. I shall, per your request, keep in constant contact by letter and ask permission to bring one of the school owls with me in order to deliver them. I have also been appointed the task of running a muggle advice column by mail, as befits Sarah Noble's wishes. I abhor doing it, but she has threatened to publish certain pictures of my recent ski weekend in Aspen with the ball of string.  
  
I would ask only that you appoint a house-elf to keep my chambers and study in order, as well as clean up these mysterious shreds of wood I keep finding in my office. And if anyone has recently lost a rather badly scuffed doorknob, I'm leaving on the coffee table in the teacher's lounge for them to pick up.  
  
Yours truly,  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. I swear I'll get you for this, you rat bastard. Your and your crApple 386. This is ONE error report you will choose NOT to send to Microsoft.  
  
P.P.S. $N4P3 $T1LL RUL3$!! 


	11. Don't take the letter

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
To Whom It May Concern:  
  
This letter is in compliance with your last response, detailing the entry down into the caverns under the school, in order to retrieve the Purple Zoowalash.  
  
I have, per your idiot request, entered down into the caverns, and am now making my way to the center of this dank network of tunnels and. . . well. . . dirt.  
  
It's very dark down here. Very, very dark. I am not enjoying this one bit. It makes me sick at heart to think that I should suffer this kind of injustice simply to attain the job position I deserve. It also makes me wish I was a muggle, because muggles often have flashlights and let's face it, flashlights are a vast improvement over the glowing tip of a piece of stick.  
  
Often, I am distracted from my long journey by the sound of faint scuttlings, off to either side of me in the tunnels leading away from the main cavern. The noises seem almost inhuman and grotesque, like flannel running around of its own accord. I don't know why that bothers me, as I live and work in a school where everything talks, including the toilets.  
  
Note to self: Do I actually LIVE at Hogwarts, or do I go home for the summer, like muggle teachers do? Do I live with my parents, or do I have an apartment by myself? Must find these things out when I get back.  
  
Back to the flannel sounds. I do not worry about their source, as I am a renowned master of the Dark Arts and other forms of self-protection. Unlike that feather-boa-brained idiot Lockhart, whose only power was the ability to nance a man to death with barrettes.  
  
Did I just hear more flannel?  
  
. . .  
  
I think that wasn't flannel that time. It sounded more like squeaky hinges. God, it's dark in here. At any rate, I shall be in the cavern of the Zoowalash within a matter of days, and when I return to the upper levels of the school, I expect a big party. And I'm not talking the kind of half-rate shindig we threw for Lupin's "Happy Fifteenth Anniversary of Being Dirt Poor" party. I want a nice decorator, maybe a live band and some decent food. No take-out or homemade dishes, I want a caterer who will provide only the best, and none of that chinese junk people are always leaving in the staff fridge. . . with that. . . that egg drop stuff I freakin' HATE. . .  
  
. . .  
  
OK, that was definitely a hinge squeak.  
  
Kinda Spooked Now,  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. Please send more biore strips with next owl. Also more individually wrapped cheese slices and this month's Vanity Fair. And a flashlight. 


	12. And send it back!

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
To Whom It May Concern,  
  
I have found the source of the flannel sounds. It seems a wild band of feral laundry has been inhabiting these caves for hundreds of years, gaining in numbers with the addition of new articles of clothing from each successive school year. I found a pair of knee-length striped socks I lost ten years ago, but unfortunately they do not seem to want to come quietly, as they have since then mated with a school scarf and a kitchen napkin, respectively. I tried to take the socks by force and was immediately attacked by tiny striped scapkins and narfs.  
  
I have been having difficulty getting back on track to the Zoowalash's cavern, since getting sidetracked by the laundry. Strange symbols and shapes are carved throughout the inner caves and tunnels. I can't seem to make any sense of them. They don't seem to have been made by the laundry, mostly because the laundry's only real talent appears to be skeletonizing a cow in less than two minutes. I am beginning to realize just how many thousands of years old the foundations of the school really are. Which makes no goddamn sense to me, as the school itself is comprised of mostly ecclesiastical 14th century European gothic architecture, barely more than seven hundred years old. Whatever.  
  
I am camping out tonite in one of the smaller side caverns, and must admit that I am enjoying myself far more than if I was back up in the school, listening to MacGonagall tell us all for the hundredth time that one story about the time she put a dollar in the staff soda machine and got two sodas by mistake. My fondue kit needs washing up, but I'm sure there must be some groundwater around here somewhere. I am, after all, right under the lake itself. I wish I'd brought a dish sponge, though.  
  
On second thought, I wish I'd gotten married and brought a wife, so she could do it for me. She probably could have sorted out that whole sock business, as well. Women love laundry.  
  
After answering a few more letters, I have turned off my iMac and am now ready to rest up until tomorrow, when I hope to at last reach the outer caverns leading to the. . . what was that? I could have sworn something dragged itself by the tunnel entrance. If it's that damn laundry again, for the last time I do NOT have any bleach.  
  
What's that outline. . .I can't quite make it out. Looks like a. . . large sheet of wood. . . hammered together with the parts and pieces of a hundred long-dead furniture projects. . .  
  
What the. . . oh-oh my GOD. . .it isn't. . .it can't BE. . .  
  
PROFESSOR DOOR?!  
  
Totally Freakin' Out!  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! 


	13. Forget you, then

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
To Whom It May Concern,  
  
It was a close call today. I may have to write double entries in my dream journal about it.  
  
At about five o'clock this morning, I was ambushed by the hideously scarred and slightly worm-eaten Professor Door. It seems I had underestimated his intelligence by far. . .he was able to resurrect himself by amputating the necessary missing parts from hapless furniture around the castle. Now I know why my chair at dinner only had one leg.  
  
It was fierce struggle with the former Professor. He was adamant about overthrowing me in my mission and reclaiming his old postion. I am sure, Professor Dumbledore, that you were not quite as thorough in your background check for this year's applicants as you might have been, else you would have spotted this strange mental defect within your former Dark Arts professor. You may want to check your windows later as well.  
  
After several splinters and doorknob-shaped bruises to the chest, I was able to throw Door off of me and into an adjoining cavern. I was badly wounded and exhausted. When I saw his square silhouette rise in the entrance of the cave, I knew it was all over.  
  
I rushed from the entrance, knowing I was only going deeper into the cul-du- sac that would eventually become my grave. But suddenly, I felt water underneath my feet as I ran. It became deeper as it went on, until I was waist-high in an underground lake. I grasped about for firm ground, and found a largish rock peninsula. I pulled myself up onto it, only to find it was an island, and that there was nowhere else to run. I looked up and saw Professor Door, slowly and menacingly floating towards me over the water. I also saw this sissy-looking blonde guy sinking underneath the door, clutching a heart-shaped diamond necklace. But I had enough problems at the moment without pulling his frozen ass from the water.  
  
Professor Door beached himself on the island, and rushed towards me with the rage of a thousand brass-fitted mahogany entryways. I prayed for a miracle.  
  
And then THEY attacked! Wave upon wave of freshly laundered socks and underwear leapt to my rescue. Apparently, feral laundry hungers for nothing better than a freshly resurrected door. I'm not sure why that is. Let's just chalk it up to irony.  
  
It was a grisly sight. . .the hapless professor, flailing his hinges as pairs of shorts and wool socks overpowered him, dragging him off the island and into the water, where he was never seen again. One lone pair of briefs stood guard over the place where he had fallen.  
  
I was about to leap back into the water to save myself from further attacks, when my attention was caught by a small pair of argyle panties. It seems the article of laundry in question had caught one of its seams between two rocks and was flailing about miserably in the shallow water near the island. I would have left regardless, but something in me felt a great kindred for this pathetic pair of women's underthings. I too had just escaped a near-fatal situation, and it would be more cruel than usual of me to ignore someone in the same plight. I released my argyle brethren and attempted to send it on its way. Unfortunately, the panties, overjoyed at my good deed, have become rather attached to me and refuse to leave my side. This rather persistent, and strangely endearing, piece of clothing now perches on my shoulder and jumps for snacks when I am in the mood to feed it. I have grown oddly fond of the panties and have named it Josephine. Perhaps a pet will lighten my emotional burden during this tedious journey.  
  
I have much to be grateful for today. Not only am I still alive and now very rinsed and clean, I also got to witness a sight few have ever seen: death by laundry. I also have a new companion, in the form of a rather naughty article of girls' clothing. I'm wonder what female resident of Hogwarts Josephine used to be owned by.  
  
Unfortunately, I haven't much more to be grateful for. While trying to make my way back from the island, I was sucked under by the rip tide of a whirlpool and am now spinning dizzily down into the very core of the earth's foundations. With Josephine tucked safely in my pocket, and the deepest, darkest caverns of creation ahead of me, I'm beginning to think that maybe Potions isn't such a bad class to teach after all.  
  
Spinning in Oblivion,  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. Heh heh. Death by Laundry. 


	14. Forget jobs and schools

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
To Whom It May Concern,  
  
The last twenty-four hours have been hell. After being sucked through a whirlpool into caverns far beneath those I was previously searching, I have ended up in a gigantic underground sea. It's horribly stifling in here. The very water is boiling hot and constantly clouds the air with steam. Plus there's sulphuric deposits all throughout the walls. It's like living in a gym coaches' shorts in here. Yuck.  
  
Having carefully made my way through some dry patches of stone around the side of the water, I was able to get to a slightly cooler cave, where I could assess the damage to my gear.  
  
DAMAGE REPORT:  
  
iMac: Wet but functional  
  
Rabbit skull: Missing  
  
Socks: Disappeared (probably skived off on that cursed Lost Sock island, the little knitted bastards)  
  
Bag of Soap: Melted  
  
Ferret: Dead  
  
Everything else: Washed away underwater  
  
Josephine was a bit waterlogged, but after a good wringing, she seemed herself again. She is now sitting on my shoulder, making fearful little noises at the bubbling, heated water that still can be heard even at this distance.  
  
I need a plan. I'm more than a mile down from where I SHOULD be. I need to get back to the upper caverns, but the only way I know of doing that is through the whirlpools, which are clearly a no-go.  
  
Josephine seems to think we should take the tunnel through this cave, back the way we came, and see if it will eventually lead to higher ground. At least, that's what I think she means when she waggles her waistband around like that. Or maybe she's trying to tell me she shrunk in the water. I should check the care instructions on her tag.  
  
I'd like to state for the records that this is all YOUR fault, Dumb-ledore. You stupid hose-brained sock-loving mall Santa. Thanks to your idiot demands, Josephine and I are going to starve to death down here. We probably. . .wait, that's it! Josephine!  
  
I'm tying Josephine to the leg of the owl that carries these letters back up to the school, along with a vast quantity of string. Josephine, when you are carried by the cavern that we first met in, JUMP OFF the owl and start tugging on the string. I'll follow it back up through the caverns!  
  
No Josephine, down. Down! No pets. No hugs. This is serious. Don't droop your seams at me like that. Sigh. OK, one hug.  
  
Now get going! I hope this works. I hope you don't get lost.  
  
Sniff. Take care.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. If you lose my freakin' pet underwear, owl, I will rip your pinion feathers out and make an interesting boa for Gilderoy's birthday! 


	15. Because deep down

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION  
  
To Whom It May Concern,  
  
It was only a matter of hours before the string I had supplied the mail owl with went taut, and I knew my faithful Josephine was at the other end, awaiting my arrival. I clamoured over heavy boulders, through a winding and twisted path under the earth. I paused only for a quick meal to sustain myself for the rest of the journey, as well as a round of electronic Skee-Ball on my iMac. Skee-Ball is a mystical muggle game that clears the mind and invigorates the body, as well as damn fun to play. I kick Lucius' highly petticoated ASS at this game every time.  
  
Having succesfully navigated my way back up to the original trail through the upper caverns, I've regained my precious Josephine and replotted my course. We are fast approaching the cave of the Zoowalash. I do not doubt that we shall reach it by the time my next letter is posted.  
  
I'd just like to take this moment to thank everyone who helped me attain this goal. Not the idiot muggles who wrote letters, they don't count. They only suffice to piss me off. I'd like to thank myself, for being extremely brave and daring and handsome and well-groomed under such stress, and I'd like to thank Josephine, for saving me from a fate worse than bleach stains. I'd also like to take a second to have an awkward silence, where I completely fail to thank Dumbledore for anything.  
  
{ . . . }  
  
There. That should do it.  
  
Along this new path I am walking, strange signs of the Zoolawash's presence abound. Rivers of chocolate syrup flow freely from the walls, allowing me to fill my canteens at will. Balls of string festoon the ceiling in strange and elaborate patterns that ninety-nine percent of the time spell out dirty words. I'm not sure why.  
  
But more importantly, the walls of the cavern that leads to the Zoowalash's lair are made of PURE GOLD. How's about that, Dumbledore? GOLD!! Who cares if I'm not the DA teacher this year? I'll buy your friggin' school like I bought all those mountains in Switzerland! HA!  
  
Josephine will also get her choice of basket beds and a fancy scratching post. Assuming argyle panties enjoy those sorts of things. If not, she'll get her own manservant to carry out her undergarment-specific whims. And a little hat with her name on it.  
  
I think I'll also use my newfound wealth to do horrible things to people I don't like, as would be the wont of three-quarters of the planet's population. I will first have all the other professors put in a special zoo, where I will feed them peanuts every Saturday, and used car tires every other day. Umbridge will be forced to wear a fake moustache and hold a sign that reads, "Do Not Pet the Bitch." Not that there will be any fear of THAT happening.  
  
I think I'll put Lupin on display as "The Amazing Starving Guy. . . watch him not eat!"  
  
Then of course, I'll build a giant rollercoaster for the students to ride on. And when they do, every car on it will derail and send them flying into the lake, strapped into their seats so they can't swim to the shore. Josephine and I will be on the shore itself, sitting in matching lawnchairs and drinking white russians while watching the spectacle. I may have some sort of fun khaki beach outfit especially planned for the event.  
  
And then I'll. . .oh my GOD. What. . . what IS that?  
  
No. . . it isn't. It CAN'T be. Not this soon!  
  
It's. . . it's. . .  
  
THE PURPLE ZOOWALASH!  
  
Left Ya Hanging,  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. Woah. 


	16. You know SN4P3 RUL3S!

FROM THE DESK OF JOSEPHINE, SIZE FIVE PAIR OF ARGYLE UNDERWEAR  
  
Re: The Purple Zoowalash  
  
To Whom It May Concern,  
  
My life has taken a turn for the stranger since having been rescued by a strange man from above the caverns. I found him flailing about in the shallows of our hollowed sacrificial island. I had hitherto been jammed by the sock priests' brief guards into the temple rocks, to be drowned as a sacrifice to the lint god when the tide came in. I was, however, saved from such a fate by the aforementioned man, who for some odd reason had somehow found his way to our protected island, hotly pursued by a large and visibly delicious wooden door.  
  
The man, whom I have fondly named Squeaky, seems not to be terribly intelligent, though affectionate in his own crude fashion. He often tries to communicate with me via handsignals, and was clever enough to mend a slight rent in my waistband. He carries all manner of contrivances with him as though on a journey, which makes me believe he is yet another idiot that our lint god Dumble Door sent down to be eaten by the sock clan. Squeaky strikes me as a rather pathetic figure, a victim of circumstance and fashion than an offender of our god. I have taken him under my wing, so to speak, and guided him back up through the caverns towards his home in the aboveworld.  
  
Squeaky, however, seems bent on completing the suicidal mission that was undoubtedly set before him by our beloved lint god Dumble Door, in the form of a search for the Purple Zoowalash. If I remember correctly, the last victim to be sent on this fool's errand was a man named Flitwick, who not only made it down to our island, but also managed to locate the Purple Zoowalash, fought it for five straight weeks, then made an attractive ascot out of it before attending a prom date with Jerry Lewis on the moon. That man does more acid than anyone I know.  
  
The fact is, there is no such thing as the Purple Zoowalash. My poor pet Squeaky managed to penetrate the innermost chambers of our caverns and discovered what he at first took to be the Zoowalash, but seconds later realized it was merely a twenty foot tall man-eating eggplant. This eggplant has been devouring the victims of our lint god since time began, and it looked as though Squeaky might be added to the list of his unfortunate meals. The eggplant lunged at Squeaky, but before I had time to react, he pulled out his wand and transfigured the eggplant into a modest office fern! I will admit I did not think Squeaky capable of any substantial magical abilities. I quite frankly did not think him capable of doing anything other than writing in his journal and crying over the "skinny pretty people" in Vanity Fair that he completely fails to resemble. But as it turns out, he rose to the challenge magnificently, and it is because of this newfound magical prowess that I have decided to keep him, rather than eat his brain at the first available opportunity, as I previously planned.  
  
And so it now appears that, eggplant in tow, Squeaky will be bringing me with him into the aboveworld. What I can expect in this new plane of existence, I can only conjecture. My opinion of the afterlife has always been rife with dissenting views from that of my lint-worshipping brethren and led to my life as a persecuted follower of a pagan religion. Despite that, I have no doubt that I shall meet the true entity from whom I spring, and for in belief of whom I was first punished as a sacrifice. . .the harvest goddess Par Vati, who cast her children into the dark caverns as punishment for some unknown original sin.  
  
Squeaky, in the meantime, has been joyously typing up a letter to the lint god Dumble Door about his "success", as well as vainly attempting to make the transfigured eggplant produce chocolate syrup and string. A return letter is expected from the lint god, and though I care nothing for Squeaky's job problems, I must admit I do wonder at what will be the final outcome of his bid for the Dark Arts position. In the meantime, I shall do my best to help him learn the beautiful and complicated language of Argyle, and perhaps he will be able to someday converse with me in a less savage and witless manner.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Josephine Dulchea Vittoria Former High Priestess of the Lint Altar 


	17. So HA HA HA HA!

From the desk of Professor Severus Snape~ Former Potions Master, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
And new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Boom shaka laka laka Boom shaka laka laka Boom shaka laka laka Boom.  
  
To Whom it May Concern:  
  
Attached to this letter you will find the Purple Zoolawash. Please have the Defence Against the Dark Arts classrooms updated with some new furniture and tasteful curtains, cuz Sevi in da house, biatch. Nyah nyah nyah.  
  
Yours truly, Severus Snape  
  
P.S. $N4P3 RUL3$. 


	18. Uh OH

From the Desk of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
Re: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS TEACHING POSITION  
  
Dear Professor Snape,  
  
I was overjoyed to receive your latest memo, regarding your triumphant return from the cavernous recesses under the school, Purple Zoolawash in tow. It is certainly a great honour to work with a man who possesses such courage, persistence and a vast collection of Paul Mitchell products. I am less overjoyed to have been introduced to your new acquaintance, Josephine, as she does not seem house-trained and has made rather a mess of my office.  
  
Bearing all that in mind, I am delighted to award you the Defence Against the Dark Arts professorship for the coming school term! Unfortunately, there is one minor stipulation. Due to heavy pressure from the Ministry of Magic for a "kinder, gentler curriculum", Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy will no longer be including a Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Therefore, it is my pleasure to have you transferred to Miss Wilhelmina's School for Young Ladies in Sussex, where I understand they need a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor very badly. I am also to understand that your duties will be even more absorbing in the coming months than you may have anticipated, since Miss Wilhelmina has seen fit to combine the Defence Against the Dark Arts course with Home Economics. Her headship has also advised me to request that you purchase a suitable kitchenette set and apron as part of the required materials for the course, as well as a late- model sewing machine. I would also appreciate it if you could continue our correspondence, as I am most anxious to hear of the new course changes at Miss Wilhelmina's school.  
  
Once again, my sincerest congratualations on your recently awarded professorship. Now pack your things and get the hell out of my castle.  
  
Yours truly,  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
  
P.S. Don't forget your handkerchiefs, Stephanie. DUM813D0R3 R0X0R$.  
  
--------------------------------  
  
Welp, he got the job. Technically, he got the job. Should we be happy for him? I spose you'll have to decide that for yourself when we visit MISS WILHELMINA'S SCHOOL FOR YOUNG LADIES!  
  
And in the meantime, visit www.livejournal.com/~SeviSays for more of his ongoing advice letters.  
  
-Das Author 


	19. Curses and Cooking

FROM THE DESK OF SEVERUS SNAPE  
  
DARK ARTS AND HOME ECONOMICS MASTER OF MISS WILHELMINA'S  
  
SCHOOL FOR YOUNG LADIES  
  
To Whom it may Concern,  
  
It is with dutiful compliance that I continue to write to you, my former Headmaster, in order to keep you better informed of my professional progresses. I didn't want to, but the ball of string has made it clear that it's the only legal way to get those photos back of me at South Hampton Beach last summer.  
  
Having been installed as the new Dark Arts/Home Economics Master at Miss Wilhelmina's School for Young Ladies, I at once took stock of my situation and surroundings, and decided that both were way too girly. Standing picturesquely on the seaside, Miss Wilhelmina's finishing school for girls is the very vision of propriety and good form. The young ladies are instructed in comportment, penmanship, posture, some classical literature as well as music, and as much fire-flinging vitriolic hexing and blood- spewing mayhem as I'll be able cram into their prissy little petticoats.  
  
As to my newly revised curriculum, I find that I have not quite as much time as I would have liked in the first semester to cover the basic vampire- stakings and werewolf snares, owing to the fact that at least three weeks of the class must be devoted to learning how to crochet properly. I'm also disappointed that much of the prime space in my classroom, where I had hoped to set up some nice displays of preserved animals, is unfortunately occupied by large cooking ovens and sewing machines. They're not even particularly nice Viking sewing machines either, but the lowest grade of late-model Singer.  
  
In order to give you a better idea of the present class that I manage, here is a brief and unbiased overview of the ten young ladies currently in my charge:  
  
Lucy- The youngest of the class.  
  
Eliza- Outspoken uppity tart.  
  
Adelaide- Dumpy and never going to get a man.  
  
Sarah- Insane.  
  
Geneveve and Gertrude- Indistinguishable sisters.  
  
Rebecca- Stuck up.  
  
Annabelle- Makes weird kissy eyes at me every class.  
  
Rosemary- Terrible cook.  
  
Lydia- Possibly a goth girl in disguise.  
  
I might add that my personal life at the school is compounded by the fact that I seem to be the only man among the teaching staff, which has made for some rather interesting and slightly awkward conversations with women who had previously resigned themselves to a lonely, loveless lifetime of dreary teaching. If it's possible to be flattered and highly afraid for one's safety at the same time, then consider me the ruling monarch of that oddly- combined emotion.  
  
It's all I can do not to quit my job now, but I'm sure that I must possess my soul in patience and see if these young women cannot be swatted into shape and formed into the very image of ruthless killers. I think that might in fact be their only available career option, given their progress in all the other subjects. Also Adelaide's backstitching is atrocious.  
  
I have a private plan that I've been mulling over: I would like to take command of this ragtag band of young ladies and turn them into my own personal cult army of destroyers. The first thing I'll have them do is set fire to your stupid beard. But we shall see in the coming weeks whether the girls are up to the challenge.  
  
You will be pleased to know that Josephine is handling the transition well, although she hasn't taken well to the new monogrammed collar I bought her. Possibly I bought the wrong color. For now, she relaxes in her pet basket at the back of my classroom during class time. The girls are all very fond of her, though suspicious as to where I got her from.  
  
Must get back to class now, as we're doing a joint session of counterjinxes and french almond cake bakery today. God help Eliza if she makes fun of my tastefully stylish black apron again.  
  
Sincerely yours,  
  
Severus Snape  
  
P.S. Send some lotion when you can, I do think Josephine is developing some sort of seam-related rash. Possibly she's allergic to cooking flour.  
  
---------------------  
  
A/N:  
  
Hey, lookit me, I updated! Sorry for the long delay. As some of you know, I now work for Tokyopop as a manga atist and I don't exactly have all the time in the world anymore.  
  
Anyhow...  
  
Sounds like Sevi's vicious army of model young ladies will be a big success, provided they can get through their midterm dressmaking. Silly man. I was actually content to leave the story as was, but many people wrote in and asked it to be continued onto Miss W's school. You people are sick.  
  
Send your sympathy letters and/or advice questions to Sevi's own advice column, located at Letters should be directed to SeviSays@hotmail.com. New letters posted every week! ( 


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